Echoes of Sensation
by SabaceanBabe
Summary: She never thought she'd be able to feel like this again...


Annie heard Mitchell come in. It was late; a glance at the clock told her that it was almost three in the morning. George had long since gone to bed, but she was up watching… What the hell was she watching, anyway? Something in black and white with a giant lizard. Sometimes she wished she could sleep, but it wasn't like a ghost needed it, right?

Mitchell hadn't moved away from the entry, although he had closed the door behind him and locked it, thrown his keys onto the table. But now he just stood there, staring off at, well, nothing. The entryway wall, for all she could tell. Or maybe the stairs.

"Mitchell? Are you alright?" She unfolded her legs and stood, but he gave no indication that he'd heard her. "Mitchell?" She switched of the telly as she walked past.

He'd been so distant these past weeks, not like himself at all. She couldn't even remember the last time he'd made a joke or genuinely smiled. At first, she and George had been more concerned that he wasn't keeping up his end of things around the house, but since they'd confronted him about that, he'd at least made some small effort. Grudgingly. And with a lot of shouting and sarcasm. But that wasn't like Mitchell, either.

It wasn't until she took his hand in hers that he acknowledged that she was there. Her touch startled him. Well, that was only fair. It startled her, too. He wasn't the only one who felt it. Just like the time he'd accidentally (or whatever) kissed her, there was a… a tingling sensation, skin to skin.

She meant to let go of his hand, but she didn't. Or maybe he didn't let her. He leaned back against the door, still holding her hand; the net effect was that she took a step closer, found herself standing between those long legs of his. She was close enough now that she heard his heartbeat and wasn't that a bit odd? But maybe it was just because she was standing with her nose to his chest.

On impulse, Annie laid her free hand flat on his chest. She felt the buttons of his shirt dig at her palm, felt the beat of his heart, faster than she would have expected, as if he'd been running or…

She looked up. Mitchell's eyes were pitch black, fixed on her. There was a smear of blood on his chin. "Annie…" His voice was rough; his face so close to hers now that she felt his breath on her cheek. His hand tightened on hers even as he whispered, "You should go." He told her to leave and yet pulled her up against him, trapping the hand that lay on his chest between their bodies. She felt his erection when he shifted a little against her hip.

She felt it. His touch, his breath. All of it. Not just echoes of sensation, but the real thing. She knew she should be afraid. He was a vampire, after all, and shaking from the effort of fighting– or maybe losing the fight against – the blood lust. Or maybe it was just plain lust. Because she felt that, too.

Annie smiled. "I'm not afraid of you, Mitchell." She freed one hand, reached up to thread her fingers into his hair, reveled in the silky feel of it as she cupped her hand around the back of his skull. She leaned into him. "You can't hurt me, Mitchell," she whispered, her lips brushing his. "I'm not alive." She licked his lower lip. He shook harder. "Cherries, Mitchell? You've put on Chapstick."

She laughed as he spun her quickly around, pinning her with his body to the door. "You tasted that, did you?" His eyes were normal again, but there was no less of hunger in them. He breathed in. "I can smell you, Annie," he breathed onto her mouth.

"But can you feel me?" She wound her arms up around his neck.

He pressed his erection against her and smiled, predatory, all alpha male. "Oh, yes…"

"Taste me." She meant it as a question, but it came out as more of a demand and that's how Mitchell took it. She didn't honestly know if she kissed him or if he kissed her, but what did it matter? Either way, their mouths finally met in more than just a light touch. Annie opened her mouth to Mitchell, her tongue slid along his and electricity seemed to shoot through her whole body, radiating all the way to her toes. He tasted of copper and whiskey, salty and sweet and Mitchell.

It all moved so fast, after that. A frenzy of need they both surrendered to. She'd thought she'd never have this again. Not that she'd ever had it before, really; Mitchell was no Owen. Or rather Owen was no Mitchell.

She didn't have a clue how the whole still wearing the clothes she'd died in would work, but it didn't take long to figure out that they weren't going anywhere. Maybe he couldn't get her shirts off, or her bra, but Mitchell could (and did, oh, god, and it felt so good) slip his hands underneath. He stroked her skin, brushing his fingers lightly over her stomach, her ribs, up her back where he made quick work of the hooks so that her bra no longer hampered his touch in any way. And all the while he sucked at her mouth and tongue. She caught his lower lip in her teeth and then his hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples. She pushed into it, wanting more.

Her clothes somehow resisted being removed, but he had no trouble pushing them out of his way. She murmured a low protest when he pulled his mouth from hers, but then it was alright because he didn't move very far, only shifted so that his mouth could join his hands. He grazed his teeth over her left nipple and she shivered; he licked her breast and sucked and tugged at her nipple and she moaned. She couldn't help herself even if she'd wanted to.

But Annie wanted more. She tugged at Mitchell's shirt, unbuckled his belt to get at the button of his jeans and then in one swift move his shirt was gone as he pulled it over his head and flung off to land wherever. And then he was kissing her again and the hair of his chest tickled at her hard nipples until he pushed back enough to get his jeans unzipped, shoved them and his underwear down over his hips. Her hands drifted down his flat stomach, running her fingers through his hair, stroking the length of his cock and he growled into her mouth as he hooked his thumbs into her waistband. But just as he couldn't remove her shirt, he couldn't get her pants off, either. The stupid things wouldn't go past her ankles. They both growled in frustration.

"The table," Annie breathed. "I can… I can… mmm…" – that last as he nipped at her neck, just a pinch of his teeth, then licked the spot.

"You were saying?" But she couldn't answer him with anything but another moan as he slid his hands around to cup her arse, rubbing his cock against her mound, slipping his fingers into her slick folds. And then he lifted her up, held her hard against him as he moved them over to the table under the window. He set her down on the edge of the table, shoving his keys clattering to the floor. She hooked her left ankle around the leg of the table so that her stupid pants were no longer in the way.

It was enough. He spread her knees wider, pulled her forward just a bit and then he was pushing into her, stretching her, filling her. And he was kissing her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in unison with his cock. Faster, harder, pushing in deeply and then nearly pulling out before thrusting into her again, the dusting of hair on his legs tickling her thighs until she brought one knee up higher, pulling him in even closer. He hooked his arm around her knee to steady her as he rocked into her. The tension built along with the friction, winding her tighter and tighter. She held onto him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. She sank her teeth into his arm to keep from shouting out her release, to keep from waking George.

She felt it when the blood lust came on him again. Mitchell sank his fangs into her neck and for a few seconds the pain was almost unbearable, but then it was gone as he came inside her. He licked at the blood on her neck, her collarbone. His arms tightened around her. "Ah, dammit, Annie," he said, his lips on her skin, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry."

Annie pushed him back until she could look into his eyes, his beautiful eyes. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare apologize, not for any of this." He looked a little bewildered, a little stunned, and well he should. She felt that way herself. "I wanted this as much as you did."

He lifted a hand, brushed her hair away from her cheek and neck and then his eyes widened in surprise.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The blood, it's gone." His eyes met hers. "It soaked into your shirt, but… It's gone."

She nipped at his mouth. "I suppose I'm just like Chinese takeout, then. Satisfying at the time, but then you're still hungry a few minutes later."

"Is everything okay down there? Annie?" George pounded down the hall upstairs from his room. "I heard you cry out. Oh, shit!"

Over Mitchell's shoulder, Annie watched George barrel down the stairs in his bathrobe, his glasses slightly askew on his face. His expression was so comical, so shocked at the sight of them that she couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up. She laughed even harder when he started backpedaling at the bottom of the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. For the first time in weeks, Mitchell grinned, but he never looked away from Annie.

"Shit," George repeated. "Sorry. Sorry. I heard noises, you see, and…" His back had hit the wall and he couldn't retreat up the stairs smoothly, so he stood there instead and ran his hands over his hair. "I thought you might be hurt, Annie, so I just… I… I… I think I should… go back upstairs, yeah?"

But he didn't move. Mitchell rested his forehead against Annie's. "He's still there, isn't he?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah, he is. I think he's staring at your bum."

Mitchell snickered at the outraged sound George made in response. "Care to join us, George?"


End file.
